


Other Side of the Coin

by SeraphJewel



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25940062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphJewel/pseuds/SeraphJewel
Summary: In this reversal, Jacob Frye is a Templar associate and Maxwell Roth is an Assassin. How do things change and how do they stay the same?
Relationships: Evie Frye/Henry Green | Jayadeep Mir, Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 20





	1. First Strike

Jacob Frye sat with his feet propped up on the table feeling the vibrations of the train through his body. Taking a moving train as their headquarters was probably the most brilliant thing he and his sister ever did. At any moment they could hop off and be in the Strand, Lambeth, Westminster, anywhere they liked. Not only was that incredibly convenient but it helped them keep tabs on the boroughs and the hold they had over each one.

Speaking of his sister, he wondered where she was right now. Probably making a report to Starrick on the status of the Shroud. She was absolutely fixated on that Piece of Eden but so far hadn't been able to narrow down its location. Lucky for her the Assassins seemed just as perplexed.

Which left Jacob in charge of the general maintenance of the city. He and Evie technically ruled the Rooks together, but forming them was his idea and he was the one who trained all the leaders currently in control of the boroughs. Whenever Evie contributed, it was more to offer funds or suggest supply routes.

Jacob glanced idly out the window to watch the city go by. It looked like they were about to cross the Thames into Whitechapel. Perhaps he'd get off here and stretch his legs.

He planted his feet back on the floor and rose. It was tempting to jump out right then and there, but he was expecting a report from his leader in Whitechapel, so best to just wait for the train to pull into the station. While he did, Jacob consulted their map. All the boroughs were still thriving and contributing to Starrick's control over London, though he was hearing whispers of some factories losing their child workers and a Templar associate's body recovered by the police. He might have to look into that.

The train rolled to a stop at the station. Jacob hopped out and searched around for his leader. A few minutes passed with no sign of the man. Jacob was annoyed; he hated being kept waiting. Finally he caught sight of the red coat his gang members wore, but the person was not Rexford Kaylock.

 _This ought to be good,_ Jacob thought, crossing his arms and waiting for the Rook to approach.

“Erm, hello, Mr. Frye.”

“Where's Mr. Kaylock?” Jacob demanded. The Rook cringed, clearly not looking forward to whatever news he had to share. Jacob gave him a smile, throwing his arm around the man and guiding him away from the public eye. “Go on, you can tell me.”

“He, erm... he's dead, sir.”

“Dead?” Jacob echoed.

“Yes, sir. The Assassins got him. They had a whole group with them, some of them from our own gang.” Jacob clenched his hands together but waited for the man to finish. “They challenged Mr. Kaylock to a gang war and... well, they won.”

Interesting. Jacob wasn't that affected by the man's loss. Starrick was the one who picked him; Jacob merely trained him. And it sounded like the Assassins actually went through the rules of gang combat, which was unexpected. How would Assassins even know anything about that?

“Were you there?” Jacob asked the man.

“Yes, sir. I saw the Assassin myself.”

“And how is it you're alive to give me this news?” Jacob's tone was still light, but the poor Rook paled, immediately sensing the danger he just walked into. It would have been stupid of him to run, but Jacob tightened his grip on the man's shoulders anyway.

“I... I thought you would want to know what happened, sir, so I--” He shrieked in pain, as Jacob had twisted his arm behind his back, causing the shoulder bone to crack.

“Want to try that again?” Jacob hissed.

“I ran!” the Rook confessed. “When I saw Mr. Kaylock wasn't going to make it I ran away!”

“Better. Tell me more about the Assassins. How many were there?”

“I... I don't really know,” the Rook whimpered. “There was one who was leading the gang, there might have been more.”

More and more interesting. Jacob flicked out a blade and teased it close to the Rook's throat. “Now, think very carefully and tell me why I should let you live.”

“I could gather more information about the Assassins for you.”

Jacob tapped the blunt end of the knife against that thin flesh while he considered this. He was very intrigued by this Assassin who took down one of the gang leaders, and did want to know more about them. 

“Very well,” he agreed. “But you best come back to me with something useful, or else.” He sliced the blade through the air, then shoved the Rook away from him.

The man ran off clutching his injured arm. With Kaylock's control of Whitechapel lost, there didn't seem much reason to linger here. Jacob hopped back on the train. He would need to confer with his associates about this new development, and Evie too should she manage to find time away from her hunt of the Shroud.

Assassins in London taking out Starrick's gang leaders. This was going to be fun.

– * – * –

“So. This is where you've holed up, is it?”

He could recognize that snooty tone from anywhere. Maxwell Roth suppressed a sigh and reluctantly turned to face his fellow Assassin. Though Lucy Thorne was not the best at her job at the moment, first letting one Piece of Eden blow up in her face and now failing to secure the Shroud for the Brotherhood.

“Is there something I can help you with, Miss Thorne?”

“Hardly. You made it clear you have no interest in the Shroud of Eden.”

“It isn't nearly as entertaining as taking away the Templars' power over the city,” Maxwell chuckled. He grinned thinking of him and the Clinkers taking down Rexford Kaylock. _Clinkers... What an awful name. I'll have to come up with something better._

“Oh, yes, you and your entertainment,” Thorne sighed, rolling her eyes. “Really, this run-down theater is very suiting for you, Mr. Roth.”

Now she was starting to irritate him. “Miss Thorne, if you have any business here, I suggest you get on with it.”

“I just came to remind you that we work in the _shadows_ , Mr. Roth. Your theatrics are not appreciated.”

“Aren't they?” Maxwell gave her a scornful look. “I've been in the city for a week and I've already toppled one of the controlling gang leaders. Remind me again of all _your_ contributions in taking down the Templar Order.” Thorne pressed her lips together, nostrils flaring. “That's what I thought.”

“Keep on like this,” she growled, “and you'll certainly catch their notice.”

“Good.”

She shook her head at him, but as she considered her warning given, she left him to his own devices. Maxwell focused back on the map of London he'd been studying when she came in. He already made connections in the city with the local police force, a man in charge of the fight clubs, and even a precocious young lady who could point him to factories that employed children. Thanks to them, Maxwell had many pieces of Starrick's empire he could break.

Taking over the Clinkers had been easy. They weren't a very well-organized group but managed to cohere once Maxwell took charge. Killing Kaylock proved that the Rooks' loyalties could be easily swayed. Of course that meant they could sway again just as easily, but as long as they agreed to work with him he didn't much care.

Maxwell scanned the list of names his new gang members gave him. The Thames or Lambeth should be next on the list, he decided. That would build up his gang enough to take on the more populated areas. Of course he'd planted himself firmly in Templar territory by making his base an abandoned theater in the Strand, but the place had appealed to him when he saw it.

Besides, where was the fun in not taking any risks?


	2. Fight Club

Evie Frye stepped into Crawford Starrick's office. The Grand Master was just having his tea delivered, his servant setting the tray down on his desk. The servant bowed politely to her on his way out.

“Miss Frye, please have a seat,” Starrick invited. Evie did just that, reaching to pour herself a cup of tea. Starrick did the same for himself. “What is the status of the Shroud?”

To her great relief, Evie actually had something positive to report. “We managed to steal some Assassin documents on the subject. Mr. Green and I are currently working on translating them. Once we do, we'll have a better idea of the Shroud's location.”

“I'm gad to hear that, Miss Frye. After the debacle with the Apple, I was concerned that you would no longer be useful to me.” Starrick took a sip of his tea. Evie copied him, being careful not to portray any fear in her expression. Starrick was not one to kill pointlessly, but he was also not one to suffer failure. Evie had been very lucky indeed that she heard about the Shroud of Eden.

“Speaking of not being useful,” Starrick resumed, “didn't I ask for both you _and_ your brother to attend this meeting?”

Evie let out a frustrated sigh, the china clinking loudly when she set down her cup. “I am not my brother's keeper, Mr. Starrick. If you have any business concerning the Rooks, you're welcome to speak with me about it.”

“I prefer you to keep your focus on the Shroud, Miss Frye.” Starrick's tone was level but there was an underlying threat that made Evie flinch. “I would also prefer my summons not being ignored. Perhaps I need to remind Mr. Frye of his contract with me.”

Eve frowned at her cup. She was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. It was obvious to her that Jacob was growing increasingly more frustrated with his association with Starrick. If Starrick picked up on that as well... Evie didn't want to think of the consequences. She picked up her cup and took another sip of tea.

“Please allow me the chance to speak with him first, Mr. Starrick.”

“Very well,” Starrick agreed. “Be sure to emphasize the importance of our meeting. I need to discuss with him a replacement for Mr. Kaylock. I will not have Whitechapel under the rule of the Assassins.”

“Yes, sir.” Evie pushed her chair back. “May the father of understanding guide us.” Starrick returned the words, nodding to her as she took her leave.

“That didn't go very well.” It was a pleasant surprise seeing Henry Green waiting for her. The two of them met when she and her brother came to London, and paired up instantly in search of the Shroud. He was an intelligent man and very eager to help in translating and researching. Evie found his company to be very pleasant.

“Indeed not, Mr. Green. We shall have to speed along our work if we can.”

“And what about your brother?”

“Don't worry, Mr. Green. I know exactly where to find him.”

It was really more of a general idea. Jacob favored the fight clubs; it was merely a question of which one he was attending at the moment. Evie asked among the Rooks until she was pointed to a club meeting in Southwark. She stepped inside the warehouse where a crowd was cheering on the fighters in the ring. Naturally the current fighter was her brother with a pile of bodies at his feet.

“Goodness,” Henry gulped.

“Have you never been to a fight club, Mr. Green?”

“No, Miss Frye, I can't say I have. I suppose you come to support your brother?”

“Hardly.” Evie gave him an endearing smile. “I come to fight.” Henry's eyes widened in surprise. He stared at her, then at the ring full of shirtless men, and then back again. Evie laughed as the blush rose on his cheeks.

The bell rang calling for the end of the fights. Robert Topping was overseeing the bets and went around with his hat held out collecting the money. Topping was sort of a neutral party, holding his loyalties to nobody. Evie and Jacob respected that and allowed him to continue with his gambling rings as long as he gave them the profits whenever they participated.

Topping caught Evie's eye and moved to whisper something in Jacob's ear. The younger Frye sighed and made his way over to his sister and Henry.

“Hello, Evie. And Greenie, what a surprise to see you joined at my sister's hip.”

“You missed a meeting with Starrick today,” Evie told him. “He needs to discuss replacing Mr. Kaylock with you.”

“And by that he means he'll just pick one of his cronies again,” Jacob grumbled with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe for once he can stop worrying about _my_ Rooks. Why not look into whoever put up that telegraph line, eh?”

“What telegraph line?” Evie demanded sharply.

“The one independent of Starrick's control.” Jacob smiled devilishly. “It was set up while you and Starrick were having your little tea party.

“And _you_ were here!” Evie shot back. “Why didn't you do something?”

“Why should I? The media is no business of mine. I feel sorry for the poor sod whose business it is, though. They're about to become a stain on Starrick's rug.” Evie let out a disgusted snort. Jacob was treating all of this like it was one big joke. “Now if you'll excuse me, I've just come into a large sum of money.”

Evie opened her mouth, but Jacob was already walking away. Fine, then. Let him dig his own grave with Starrick.

“The telegraph line must have been the work of the Assassins,” Henry spoke up. Evie was so busy bickering with her brother she nearly forgot Henry was there. “We should think of where they might strike next and cut them off before they ruin any more of Starrick's businesses.”

“No, Mr. Green,” Evie sighed. “You heard Mr. Starrick: he wants us concentrating on the Shroud. The rest of his businesses will have to do without our help.”

– * – * –

Maxwell felt very pleased with himself on how his partnership with the inventor Alexander Graham Bell turned out. Not only did they take some of Starrick's control of the city away, but he got a fascinating rope launcher added to his Assassin gauntlet. Zipping around over the rooftops reminded him a little of his days in the circus.

Maxwell knew he needed to take advantage of the chaos his latest strike caused, and he already knew his next target. His Blighters-- that was the name he finally settled on for his gang-- told him of a syrup that was being peddled by merchants throughout the city. According to them, it was causing particular trouble in the poorer parts of the city.

He found one such merchant and used his sixth sense to track the syrup. Its trail eventually led him to a warehouse, but he wasn't the first one to arrive. Another gentleman was at the door, attempting to break in.

“You appear lost,” Maxwell observed. The other man jumped away from the door.

“No, no, I was just...” The man glanced between the door and Maxwell. “See here, do you know what's inside this warehouse? Crates full of a vile syrup that gives people hallucinations! And they're giving it out to the poor people of this city! It's absolutely disgusting!”

“I agree,” Maxwell said, smiling at the man's passionate rant. “Maybe I could be of some help, Mister...?”

“Darwin. Charles Darwin. And by all means, sir.” Darwin stepped aside and Maxwell took over. He swiftly picked the lock and invited himself inside the warehouse.

Of course the place was crawling with Rooks. Maxwell pulled his hood over his face, readying his hidden blade as he crept around disposing of any who might get in his way. There were no children workers in this factory so Maxwell had no hesitation in completely destroying it and anyone else still alive inside.

Darwin was waiting him outside. Maxwell caught him by the elbow and dragged him off to a safe distance before the building was completely engulfed in flames.

“Well done, sir!” Darwin praised. “I'd say that will take care of distribution!”

“Now all that's left is the source,” Maxwell grinned. He was absolutely relishing in this. His new acquaintance seemed just as thrilled.

“I have a great interest in seeing this syrup completely destroyed. Please allow me to look into the matter.”

“I'd be delighted, Mr. Darwin. My name is Maxwell Roth. You can contact me at the Alhambra if you find anything.”

Darwin agreed and shook Maxwell's hand. The Assassin was having a very good day: first the telegraph lines and now the soothing syrup. He could have ended his day there and gone to relax in the Alhambra, but he was still energized from his work in the warehouse. No, he was certain he could strong-arm some bounties Sergeant Abberline told him about and maybe take out a gang stronghold close by.

With any luck, by this time tomorrow he and his Blighters would be challenging the Rooks to a gang war and one more piece of Starrick's puzzle would be taken away from him. Maxwell liked that idea very much.

It was a delight to watch it all far apart.


	3. Following the Trail

The trail of Starrick's Soothing Syrup ended at Lambeth Asylum. It took some investigating and a bit of help from Charles Darwin, but Maxwell finally had the name of the man responsible. How disgusting that a doctor would be so twisted as to create such a substance. Wasn't there some vow about doing no harm?

Harm would certainly come to Dr. Elliotson before this night was over. Him and every other corrupt doctor Maxwell could sink his blade into. The Brotherhood likely wouldn't approve of that. Patients of the asylum without doctor supervision promised chaos. Which, as far as Maxwell was concerned, would only be beneficial in taking away Starrick's control.

Maxwell watched in horror as Elliotson performed a very questionable procedure on a man. The question was how to take the doctor out. He could just break into the operating room and slice Elliotson's throat, but that seemed a little boring. Maxwell scanned the asylum using his sixth sense, looking for other options.

His eyes narrowed in on a young doctor down in the morgue. An idea formed in his mind.

On his way down to the morgue, Maxwell passed by two doctors torturing a patient with electroshock “therapy”. He took them both out at once, sparing the patient a little nod before moving on. He didn't bother trying to hide any of the bodies he left behind. It would do these doctors some good to have a dose of fear and paranoia.

The morgue was quiet with only the young doctor in attendance. Maxwell waited in the shadows for the young man to step away from the cadaver meant for Elliotson's operating theater. Once the doctor turned around, Maxwell crept forward to take the body and replace it with himself. The doctor didn't even notice that the new body he was wheeling out had shoes on.

Maxwell waited for his cue. He could hear the doctor droning on about this next demonstration. Something about comparing the brains of the specimens. Maxwell spotted the man getting closer and sat up, stabbing him directly in the temple.

“Let's compare the brains of _this_ specimen,” Maxwell quipped. He wiped away the blood with his handkerchief as was custom, and made a quick escape.

That was so much fun! He couldn't resist lingering to watch the remaining doctors scramble. Maxwell couldn't spare much more time than that, as he had another appointment in Lambeth. He and his Blighters had successfully loosened the Rooks' grip over the borough enough to demand a gang war, though with Elliotson gone it felt more like an unnecessary formality. Still, if he wanted any more Rooks to swear loyalty to him, he would have to take out their leader in combat.

This time the leader was a man by the name of Cletus Strain. The former Rooks informed Maxwell that Strain was known for his theatrics, which suited the Assassin just fine. Maybe he could find someone worth his time in this fight.

“Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,” Strain sang, cracking his knuckles.

Maxwell mimicked the gesture, his grin turning wild. His Blighters had instructions to take out as many Rooks as they could while leaving the leader to Maxwell. The fight broke out immediately with fists, knives, and gunfire. Adrenaline pumped through Maxwell. When he challenged Kaylock, the man had mistakenly underestimated him due to Maxwell's age. It looked as if Strain was a bit less foolish.

The two leaders squared off, exchanging ducks and blows while their gang fought around them. Strain got most of Maxwell's focus, but he reserved some from any Rooks who might jump in to help their leader. One Rook took a swipe at Maxwell with a knife. He grabbed the weapon out of the attacker's hand, spinning around and burying it in Strain's neck.

“Strain's down!” the Rook shouted. “Strain's down! The war goes to the Blighters!” Both sides stopped fighting. Maxwell climbed on top of a carriage they were using to block the road.

“Listen up, all of you. My name is Maxwell Roth, and from now on you work for me!” There were enough Rooks left to add a decent number to the ranks. They nodded and applauded their new leader. Eventually they would exchange their red coats with green.

Maxwell hopped back down. A newly converted Blighter wasted no time in approaching him, likely hoping to make a good impression. “Sir, if I may be so bold, your moves are worthy of a fight club. There's a man by the name of Robert Topping who runs them. I expect he would welcome you in the ring if you contacted him.”

“I'll do that,” Maxwell agreed. He enjoyed fighting these gang wars, but it never hurt to keep his skills sharp.

“You may even see Mr. Frye there,” the Blighter added. “He frequently attends the club.”

“Oh? And who is Mr. Frye?”

“Jacob Frye. He's the leader of our whole group. Er, the Rooks, that is. He's the one that trained all the other leaders.”

Maxwell was interested. He heard Thorne grumbling about someone named Frye, but was sure it was a feminine name. Eve or something? Siblings, perhaps. This Jacob Frye must be something special if he trained all the gang leaders of London.

How many other pawns would Maxwell have to take out before he could meet with the King of the Rooks?

– * – * –

The information Lucy Thorne found pointed her to the Kenway Manor as her next stop in her search for the Shroud of Eden. Of course-- the notorious pirate Assassin likely stumbled upon many treasures in his day. She felt very smug about her discovery, but the feeling disappeared immediately when she saw that Evie Frye beat her to the manor.

“That woman,” she growled. Frye had brought her Rooks along and had them poking every corner of the manor like rats. It was disgusting watching Templars defile this Assassin household.

She pulled her hood down and began making her way carefully through the house. She took out any Rooks who might hear her, hiding them in wardrobes to keep her presence a secret. Lucy listened for Frye's voice. She caught the woman having a conversation with another Templar she called Henry. The two of them were talking about one of Kenway's items. Lucy gritted her teeth; she hated to admit it, but the Frye woman knew her history.

Lucy slipped into a music room that so far had not been touched by the Templars. There had to be _something_ here that would give her a clue, something the Templars wouldn't think to check. The solution was so obvious she could have smacked herself for not thinking of it sooner: her sixth sense. Though all humans were born with the ability to use it, only Assassins bothered going through the training necessary to access the gift.

She tapped into the ability now and instantly saw letters light up on the mantle opposite the grand piano. No, not just letters-- musical notes. Lucy read over the sequence a few times to memorize it, then turned to the piano and played them.

A hidden entrance. How clever, and how like a pirate. Unfortunately the noise caught the attention of a Blighter.

“Hell,” she cursed, hurrying down the passage and closing it before they could follow. She caught one glimpse of Evie Frye's face before the passage shut. The smugness returned. _Beat you this time, didn't I, Miss Frye?_

But to her disappointment, Lucy did not find the Shroud. Just more clues to where it could be found. How annoying. No matter, she was still a step ahead of Evie Frye. That would satisfy her for now.

– * – * –

“He's an absolute menace!” Twopenny ranted. “He's taken out Elliotson and two boroughs have fallen! The man is pure chaos! He has no idea the damage he's causing!”

“He needs to be stopped,” Cardigan added. “They both do.” Starrick listened to them, the calm in the storm.

“My progress with the Shroud is still going along,” Evie insisted. “I'm so close, Mr. Starrick. Miss Thorne won't best me a second time.”

“I have full confidence in you, Miss Frye. As for the other Assassin, I wouldn't concern yourself with him, gentlemen. As you say, he is pure chaos. He will destroy himself in time.”

“Oh?” Cardigan huffed. “And exactly how many boroughs will he take down before that time comes? What exactly is that Rook trainer of yours doing, Starrick?” Evie's heart raced and she focused very hard on the wallpaper so she could give away nothing by her expression.

“As I said, gentlemen,” Starrick replied coolly, “don't concern yourselves with it. Please go about your business as usual and be assured that our hold on this city is too strong for one man to topple.” The men didn't like this conclusion, but understood themselves as dismissed and left. Evie moved to do the same but Starrick called her back. “Miss Frye, I _will_ remind your brother of his obligations to me one way or another.”

Evie swallowed hard. There was no hiding the fear in her eyes. “Yes, sir.” _Jacob, please, for once take this seriously. I'm begging you._


	4. Control

Jacob could count on one hand how many times he'd seen the inside of Crawford Starrick's office. The first was when he and Evie arrived in London. They heard about the strong Templar presence in the city and the power it promised drew them in. It didn't take much for them to earn an audience with the Grand Master, or to earn their places. Naturally Evie found her place in hunting down Pieces of Eden. As for Jacob, he had more immediate ambitions.

“Seems to me, Mr. Starrick, that your hold on this city is pretty precarious.”

“The Templars control all possible avenues: transportation, media, medicine, factories, finance. What is it you think we're missing, exactly?”

“The streets,” Jacob declared. “The everyday citizen. I can build you a gang that will dominate London in ways that none of your other enterprises could.”

“Interesting proposal, Mr. Frye,” Starrick mused, brushing a finger through his mustache. “Fine. Go ahead and build your gang. Show me its benefits.”

But that wasn't the end of it. Just when Jacob's gang was gaining some notoriety, Starrick stepped in demanding that his hand-picked people be trained as leaders over the boroughs. Then he wanted the Rooks to act as guards for all his factories and to watch over his associates. Then he wanted them transporting cargo. His grip just kept getting tighter and tighter.

And now he strong-armed Jacob here no doubt to squeeze even tighter.

“Mr. Frye, how nice of you to finally grace me with your presence.” As if Jacob was given an option. He was practically dragged here by Starrick's agents. “We need to get our hold back on Whitechapel and Lambeth.” He motioned at the door, where two figures stepped forward. Jacob didn't recognize them but they were wearing the Templar crest, and there was really only one reason for them to be here.

“I've got people who can do the job, Starrick.”

“You seem to be under the delusion that you have any say over this matter, Mr. Frye. I assure you that you do not. You will train Mr. Williams to take over Whitechapel and Miss Torrence to handle Lambeth.”

Jacob took in slow breaths to keep his temper under control. How he would have dearly loved to cross the room and punch Starrick in the jaw. But what good would that do? The man would still be running London. And apparently he had his head so far shoved up his ass he thought he knew best how to run a street gang _Jacob_ had formed. He could tell just from looking that these two were useless compared with the ones Jacob might have chosen to replace Kaylock and Strain.

“I'll have them ready by the end of next week,” he promised through gritted teeth.

“See that they are. You are dismissed. May the father of understanding guide us.”

“Yes. May the father... et cetera.”

Jacob managed to keep himself composed all the way back to his carriage. He waited for the door to be closed and the driver to start moving before he let out his scream of frustration and rage. Jacob loved the power the Templars promised, but the control always rubbed him the wrong way. Starrick's control was getting out of hand. Jacob needed to get out from under him soon.

But first he needed to let out some steam. It would be too obvious if he went to a fight club. Maybe there was something else he could do. Some other way to channel all this aggression and restless energy. Hopefully Topping would have some options.

– * – * – 

Honestly, did Roth ever think anything through? He killed Elliotson and left chaos in his wake. He hadn't solved anything with the destruction of that soothing syrup. No, he just invited the market to fill the void with other tonics. The worst of all of it was Lucy knew he didn't care. Roth seemed to thrive on chaos. Well, it wasn't her job to clean up his messes. She had more important business.

The clues from the Kenway Manor led her to the Monument to the Great Fire of London. She felt a surge of triumph seeing she was alone when she reached the spot. Lucy searched the base of the monument first before using the rope launcher to scale its height.

She hated to admit it, but Roth's acquaintance with the inventor Alexander Graham Bell was proving to be incredibly useful. Not only had Bell been able to read schematics to improve their hidden blade gauntlets, but he also tinkered with the design enough to allow for these launchers. Apparently the syrup had inspired him and he was now making some hallucinogenic potion the Assassins could use.

Lucy reached the top of the monument and tapped into her sixth sense searching for more clues. A bit of poking led her to a clockwork puzzle, of all things. It was easy enough for her to solve. Her prize was a necklace that must be the key to the vault containing the Shroud.

“Well done, Miss Thorne.” She froze, slowly turning at the sound of that voice. Evie Frye stood before her with a smirk playing on her lips. “I'd like to thank you for saving me the trouble of finding that key. Now hand it over.”

“I think not,” Lucy growled, activating her hidden blade and lunging.

Evie quickly held up her cane sword to block the attack. The two women clashed, sometimes using their blades and other times trying to get in closer for kicks and punches. More than once Lucy found herself just barely getting out of the way of a fatal jab from Evie's sword. The woman was skilled, no doubt about it.

As they clashed Lucy tried to guide them over to the monument's ledge. If she could just get in a good, swift kick, she would send Miss Frye tumbling to her death. Just as she found her opening, Evie made a grab for the vault key.

“No!” Lucy cried, but it was too late: her foot connected to Evie's chest at the exact moment the woman's hand closed around the key. The woman went toppling down with the key clutched firmly in her hand.

Well. That was unfortunate. Scowling, Lucy made her way back down the monument. Hopefully the key wouldn't be too damaged when she picked it from Miss Frye's corpse. But when she made her way to where Evie should have fallen, Lucy found no body. No blood, either, or any trace of the woman at all. Lucy glanced up to where she and Evie grappled. Did that woman actually _survive_ the fall?

– * – * –

Who knew the transportation business could be so cutthroat? Buses set on fire, drivers being kidnapped, threats against the leader's life. It was downright nasty. Maxwell was more than happy to offer his services to Miss Pearl Attaway. It sounded exciting, almost like a gang war. And Maxwell certainly had his share of those in this city. He and the Blighters were already about to challenge Southwark's leader to take over another borough.

Blowing up Millner's buses was quite satisfying. Miss Attaway was a bit grating on how she took control of the situation, but Maxwell had to admit she had good ideas. The theft of the internal combustion engine would certainly put her ahead of Millner's business. But that wasn't enough for her: she wanted the man dead.

Well, Maxwell was an Assassin. He could oblige her.

“I should have known it would come to this,” Millner coughed as life left him. “Coming in between Starrick and his cousin was bound to end in my death.”

“What do you mean?” Maxwell demanded.

Millner gave him a bloody smile. “Oh, didn't you know? Pearl Attaway and Crawford Starrick are cousins.” He slumped, his last breath of life leaving him. Maxwell grimly wiped his handkerchief across the dead man's throat.

So his partnership with Miss Attaway would come to an end. That suited him just fine. And what a blow that would be to Starrick. He would learn where to strike at her soon, but first Maxwell needed to clear his head. He shot out a hook and sped over the rooftops of London. Gliding along the ziplines brought back fond memories of his time as a trapeze artist in the circus.

He was moving over a train station and spotted a large crowd. They were all cheering and clapping about something. Curious, Maxwell made his way down to get a closer look. He spotted the familiar hat of Topping and approached the man.

“What's going on here, Mr. Topping?”

“Oh, Mr. Roth! Good to see you, sir. We're just having a race of man versus machine.”

“You've got someone racing the train?” Maxwell clarified.

“I do! And listen!” There was the familiar whistle of the train as it turned the corner. “The race is nearly over!” But thundering around that same corner was a carriage. The crowd was in an absolute uproar as they cheered on the driver. Maxwell felt himself get swept up in the excitement and watched eagerly as the driver pushed his horses faster, leaning forward on his seat as if that would help him reach the goal.

And then he crossed the finish lines seconds before the train hit its mark. The crowd exploded in cheers. Maxwell pushed through them, wanting a closer look at this driver who could beat a train. The man hopped off his seat and took off his cap, waving it in triumph.

Maxwell was immediately struck by the man's looks. He looked young with a fine beard edging his jaw. His dark hair was a bit messy from the cap, but that only made him more appealing. There were two scars cutting into his face: one through his eyebrow and one on his jaw. And then there was that smile. The best word he could think of for it was _devilish_. It made Maxwell's heart flutter.

Then he started taking in the rest of the man. It looked like they would be near the same height were they to stand face to face. This man carried a bit more weight on him, though. If he were to step into the fighting ring, that weight could be transferred to some impressive power. It also looked like he was wearing a necklace with some sort of round pendant. Maxwell wanted to get even closer, to see that pendant and speak to the man. But the man was turning away, disappearing in the crowd almost as well as an Assassin.

“Who was that?” Maxwell asked Topping.

“Him? That's Jacob Frye, head of the Rooks.”

 _That_ was Jacob Frye? That gorgeous, wild, confident man? Maxwell absolutely had to meet him. He remembered his upcoming appointment with the leader of Southwark. Maybe three dead Rook leaders would be enough to grab the man's attention.


	5. Escalation

Henry carefully shifted the bag full of cubed ice to Evie's other shoulder. He was very glad he insisted on coming along when she went to the monument. He knew he was pretty useless out in the field but he thought maybe he could at least watch her back. He didn't want to think of what would have happened to Evie were he not there. It was thanks to her fast reflexes that she hadn't broken her body when Lucy Thorne kicked her from the monument's peak, but she still hurt herself enough that she couldn't have gotten away without Henry's help.

Now she was convalescing in her bed, wrapped in bandages and bruised from her fall. Jacob came by to make sure she was all right but he was clearly distracted by his own problems. Evie assured him before insisting he get back to his business with the Rooks.

“At least one of us has to keep in Starrick's good graces,” she said to Henry once Jacob was gone.

“You think he'll be angry at you over this?” Henry frowned. “But you have the key to the vault.”

“Yes, but I need the vault's location for it to be of any use, and while I'm here recovering Lucy Thorne will be out looking for that location. Starrick will never forgive me if the Shroud falls into the hands of the Assassins.”

“It won't,” Henry assured her, clasping her hand in his. She was so fierce and beautiful. Henry thought so from the moment he laid eyes on her. It was lucky that she had an interest in research. Otherwise, he might never have had the chance to speak with her.

“Evie,” he ventured. “I was wondering if you could help me with a different project. Something other than the Shroud.” She raised her eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “You see, I've just learned of a quaint British custom of pressing flowers. Is it true that you give flowers their own language?”

“Yes, we do.” Evie shifted a little, taking the bag of ice and putting it against her ribs. “How is it I can help you, Henry?”

“Well...” Henry dropped his eyes shyly. Evie was a perceptive woman; surely she would catch on to what he was really trying to do. “I've already collected a few flowers. I was hoping you could help me with their meanings.”

“I think I would like that very much.”

He lifted his eyes to hers in surprise. A delighted smile spread across his face. She matched the smile, her fingers curling around his hand. Henry found he loved the way her freckles dotted her cheeks, and the stray hairs that escaped her styled hairdo. She was absolutely breathtaking, and Henry found himself drawn to her. He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth and felt her respond at once, her fingers lightly touching his cheek.

There was a sharp knock at the door. Evie broke away from him, clearing her throat. “Come in.”

One of the Rooks appeared, tipping her hat to Evie. “Pardon me, ma'am, but we just received the word: Pearl Attaway has been murdered by the Assassins.”

Evie gasped, her eyes going wide and the color draining from her face. “I see,” she acknowledged flatly. “Thank you for letting me know.” The Rook nodded and backed out of the room again. Evie took in a slow breath, her shoulders slumping.

“I... I'm sorry,” Henry consoled her. “I wasn't aware you knew Miss Attaway well.”

“I didn't, but I know how Starrick is going to react to this, and it means things are going to get even worse for Jacob.” She gazed at him, her face pinched. “He already is so unhappy with his association with Starrick, and losing Pearl will only make Starrick want to grip onto what he has tighter. I'm afraid of how Jacob will respond.”

“Then we need to double our efforts in finding the Shroud,” Henry decided. “Distract Starrick away from your brother.”

“Henry.” She threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly despite her injuries. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” _Anything for you._

– * – * –

Really, this was getting to be ridiculous. First the soothing syrup and now the transportation business. Was there nothing that Roth wouldn't wreck by his carelessness? Lucy would have been more than glad to let things continue to spiral out of control, but she had to live in this city, too. So it was with much grumbling that she began to sweep up Roth's messes.

First she made contact with Florence Nightingale, a kindly nurse, and helped her start distributing real medicine through the boroughs. Then she met with Edward Bayley. The man manufactured omnibuses, and with both Millner and Attaway gone, was becoming the fresh target for Starrick's enterprise. That wouldn't do at all.

She worked with him to help establish a company independent of Starrick's rule. “There,” Lucy sighed, dusting off her hands. “Now, what was so hard about that?”

Hopefully Roth could keep himself from causing destruction for one day. Though Lucy wasn't going to hold her breath on that.

– * – * –

“Dear Mr. Roth, I have heard of your recent conquests of the boroughs of London and would very much like to meet you in person. I hope you will do me the honor of meeting me this evening at seven o'clock at the Devil's Acre. Sincerely, Jacob Frye.”

The note was delivered to him by way of Blighter, who had received the note from a Rook. Apparently the gangs weren't in such a rivalry that they couldn't be civilized. Maxwell read it several times, studying every curve of Jacob's handwriting. 

Devil's Acre. What an interesting meeting place. Maxwell would have proposed the Alhambra, but perhaps Jacob preferred a more neutral location. He accepted the invitation anyway and arrived at the pub with some measure of excitement.

Jacob was an easy man to spot. He sat alone at a table, his feet propped up on the chair opposite his and his arms resting on the back of his own chair. He seemed utterly relaxed in this environment. Jacob wore no hat this time so his hair was slicked back, giving him a very dashing air. Maxwell gave himself a moment to admire before scanning the rest of the pub. How strange that he didn't pick up a single Rook presence. Overconfidence, perhaps, but an attractive quality nonetheless.

“Mr. Jacob Frye?” he asked as he stepped forward. He already knew, but of course Jacob wasn't aware Maxwell had seen him before. Jacob turned to face him, dropping his feet to the ground and rising.

“Mr. Maxwell Roth?” Jacob studied him for a moment. Maxwell wondered what those keen eyes were seeing. Jacob didn't seem surprised by Maxwell's age, or slightly horrified by the long scar cutting through the man's face. He seemed... intrigued. “Have a seat,” Jacob invited, pointing to the spot his feet recently occupied.

Maxwell did, and a moment later a waitress came by for his order. He asked for a pint of beer, and she disappeared to fetch one. Jacob already had a pint in front of him, from which he took a generous drink. A man who could put away his liquor. Maxwell liked that. The waitress returned with Maxwell's drink. He thanked her and tipped his head back to gulp it down.

“So,” Jacob began, setting down his mug, “you've taken out three gang leaders, and I understand your group's also responsible for destroying Starrick's Soothing Syrup. And just before this meeting, my Rooks told me Pearl Attaway was murdered.” Jacob flashed that delightfully devilish smile. “You've been very busy, Mr. Roth.”

“None of this upsets you?” Maxwell questioned.

“Hardly. Starrick is always so bloody sure of himself. It's nice seeing him scrambling.” Jacob took another long drink. “The question is how do we make even _more_ trouble for him.”

“You--” Maxwell took a moment to replay the words in his mind. “You want to make trouble for him? Don't you work for him?”

“Yes.” Jacob rolled his eyes. “But he's become a real pain in the ass lately. I want out from under his thumb, and I thought you would be just the man to help me with that.”

“I'm intrigued.” Maxwell leaned forward eagerly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Tomorrow a train is scheduled to carry a load of Starrick's munitions. I say we go in and destroy the lot.”

 _Yes!_ It sounded perfect. And the way Jacob said “destroy” promised that this was not going to be a quiet mission. Just the sort of entertaining chaos Maxwell loved. He couldn't imagine most Assassins would agree to such a plan. It went against their creed of hiding in plain sight. But really, who cared? This sounded like it would really gut Starrick.

“It's an excellent idea, Jacob.” The man's given name slipped out so easily; Jacob didn't seem to mind the loss of formality. “So when you say 'we'...”

“Oh, I'll be coming. I want front-row seats to the fireworks.”

Maxwell cackled. He was liking this man more by the second. “I'm in.” He lifted his mug, and the two toasted to their new partnership. “If you'll excuse me, Jacob. I'm looking into a bank robbery and I should get back to it.”

“You're going after Twopenny?”

That comment made Maxwell pause. He scrutinized Jacob. “Twopenny? The governor of the Bank of London?”

“Don't be so surprised, Maxwell,” Jacob chuckled. Oh, he did like the sound of his name coming from those lips. “It's a position of power; naturally it would appeal to the Templars. He's been nicking funds from the bank for ages. Likes to call himself Plutus, the pompous ass.”

“Then he won't mind if I get him better acquainted with Thanatos.” Jacob treated him to another devilish smile. “Thank you for the information, Jacob. I shall put it to good use.”

“I look forward to the results, Maxwell. See you tomorrow.”

Maxwell gave him a little nod before taking his leave. The moment he vacated the seat Jacob's feet went right back to take up the space. Charming, handsome, clever, dangerous, and promising entertainment coupled with taking power away from Starrick. Maxwell never met anyone who captured his interest so quickly before. And even more, Jacob was under Starrick's control but still defying him. That made him incredibly brave. Maxwell would admit he was already a bit infatuated.

And really, what was the harm in having a bit of fun with the bravest man in London?


	6. Near Miss

The two of them met at the Alhambra. The train station where they would make their strike was only a few blocks away, and it was an easier meeting place than Jacob's moving hideout. Jacob was so eager to get started he jumped onto the driver's side of the carriage. As they rode they struck up conversation. Maxwell told Jacob how he used the man's information to eliminate Twopenny, and Jacob talked of the races and fights he recently participated in.

“I saw you win a race against a train,” Maxwell mentioned. “It was very impressive, my dear.” The endearment rolled off his tongue just as easily as Jacob's given name. He saw a smile touch Jacob's lips, though it was hard to tell whether it was in response to the compliment or the endearment.

Jacob pulled their carriage to a stop and hopped out. Maxwell followed after him. Jacob explained that the train would be rolling by on its way to the station. The timing was too perfect, as the words barely left his lips before the train appeared. Maxwell prepared his body and jumped just in time to land on the train's roof. He heard a _thump_ and saw that Jacob had joined him.

“I told you: I want to be right in the middle of the action! Don't worry, the Rooks guarding this station won't see me. I'm no Assassin, but I know a bit about hiding in the shadows.” Just as the train rolled into the station, Jacob jumped off and scaled up a beam that led to the roof.

Maxwell stood and watched, impressed with the younger man's agility. But then he had to focus on the task at hand. He too jumped off the train and focused his sixth sense to seek out any Rooks. It wasn't a surprise seeing them guarding the explosives. First Maxwell would take care of the alarm bell, and then he would start the destruction. It was more tactical to go after the Rooks first, he supposed, so there would be no interruptions once he started destroying the dynamite. But then again, explosions were sure to draw their attention.

That way sounded much more entertaining.

The first explosion caused them to swarm him. Maxwell grinned in delight and exchanged blows with them, not even bothering to use his hidden blade as he took them out. He lured them over before he ignited the second crate of dynamite, blowing a few of them up and killing any who survived. As he searched for the next crate he glanced up to the ceiling. He could see Jacob's figure above him watching. He wondered how the younger man was enjoying the show.

Maxwell moved on to the next target. He might have been showing off a bit with this one in Jacob's line of sight. He swore he heard the man laughing when Maxwell set off the dynamite. The rest of the crates were destroyed, and now all that was left was getting a driver for the train. Maxwell was lucky to grab one fairly quickly and escort him to the front of the train.

Jacob was already there waiting. He grinned and tipped his hat to Maxwell. “You did splendid. Sorry to cut and run, but I have other business. Let's do this again.”

“I'll look forward to it, my dear,” Maxwell replied. “Come find me at the Alhambra.” Jacob gave him a devilish smile and a little wave, and then the train was pulling away. Maxwell stood and waited until it was out of sight.

He was going to have that smile in his mind for the rest of the day.

– * – * –

The Tower of London. This hunt for the Shroud was starting to feel like a scavenger hunt. When was she going to find the damn thing itself? Lucy was starting to get irritated with all this running around. And all this climbing. She made it to the top, freezing when she got there.

“No. This is impossible.”

“Miss Thorne.” Evie's lips curled into a mocking smile. “We meet yet again.”

“How?!” Lucy demanded. “How are you here?”

“Well, you see, Miss Thorne, some very basic clues were left to lead a person to a certain Shroud of Eden. Any idiot could follow them... clearly, as you're here.”

“That's it,” Lucy huffed, taking out her kukri. “I'm going to make damn sure you're dead this time!” She swiped, Evie deflecting the blow with her cane sword. The two quickly engaged in a duel, narrowly missing skin on several occasions. Lucy hated how evenly she and Evie were matched in terms of skill.

If only the woman was incompetent! Then at least Lucy could feel some contempt. But no, she had to settle for begrudging respect.

“Honestly, Miss Thorne, why don't you just let us have the Shroud? It's not as if the Assassins are going to do with it. The power of the First Civilization could be yours and you squander it by letting it sit in a vault.”

“It isn't meant for us!” Lucy argued, swiping at Evie's face. She finally managed to nick the woman's cheek. Evie brushed her finger across the cut.

Their battle continued. The longer it went on the more tired Lucy became, but she could see that Evie was also starting to wear down. All Lucy needed was to time it just right. Unfortunately Evie was thinking the same thing. Neither didn't intend the other to walk out of this encounter alive.

Well, then. May the best woman win.

– * – * –

Henry heard someone coming down his hallway. Frowning, he rose to check the source and was surprised to see Evie there. Before he could ask her what she was doing, she stumbled, and he barely caught her before she hit the ground. His hand could feel something wet at her side. When he pulled his hand away he saw it was stained with blood.

“Evie...” He quickly took her back into his room and stretched her out on the bed. The wound looked nasty, the blood already a large spot on her clothes. “My god, what happened?”

“That... bitch,” Evie snarled through gritted teeth. “I couldn't beat her.”

“Shh.” Henry brushed his hand across her forehead. “Just lay still. I'm getting you a doctor.”

He hurried back out the door and grabbed the nearest carriage driver he could find. He instructed the man to rush to the doctor, and threw money at him to hasten the horses. Next his eyes searched for the red coats of the Rooks. Henry was relieved to find one quickly.

“You! Go get Jacob Frye as quick as you can. His sister's been attacked.” The Rook nodded, pouncing on a hansom and shoving the driver out of the way. Henry ran back into his lodgings where Evie was waiting.

He was very glad now he knew a bit about cleaning and dressing wounds. This was not the time for modesty so he cut Evie's vest off and lifted her shirt to expose the wound. The size and depth told him it was made by an Assassin's hidden blade. Henry rushed to the bathroom to wet a cloth so he could start cleaning it. Evie lost a lot of blood already getting here; he hoped that it wasn't too much.

The doctor barely beat Jacob in arriving at Henry's door. Jacob was wild-eyed and afraid as he shoved his way through to check on his sister.

“Fuck,” he cursed.

“It's not that bad,” Evie protested. “We get worse in the fight clubs.”

“Right,” Jacob agreed, though his face was still worried. “You'll be fine. Greenie, a word?” Confused, Henry followed Jacob out while the doctor stepped in to do his work. “Henry, do you love my sister?” Henry's mouth dropped. He wasn't sure what surprised him more, Jacob using his actual name or the question. “It's a simple question,” Jacob urged him. “Do you love her?”

“Yes,” Henry answered without hesitation. “Yes, I do.”

“Then no one in the Templar Order can find out this happened. Do you understand? If any of them find out, especially Starrick, they _will_ kill her.” Henry nodded mutely. They all knew that Starrick did not suffer failures, and Evie had failed one too many times. “Make sure she stays in bed until she's well,” Jacob added.

“But what about the Shroud?”

“I don't give a damn about the bloody Shroud,” Jacob growled darkly. He turned and stalked off. Shaken, Henry moved to go back in. The doctor was just finishing up wrapping Evie's wound.

“How is she?”

“Weak, but I think with some rest, she'll make it.”

“I understand what you mean, doctor,” Henry said quietly, “but there is nothing weak about her.”

– * – * –

Jacob didn't know why he was here, except that it was the only place he could think of to go. He lifted his hand and knocked on the door. He was kept waiting for a few minutes before it opened. Maxwell Roth stood on the other side, his eyes wide in surprise seeing Jacob there.

“Jacob? What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” Jacob asked.

“Yes, of course, my dear. Come in.” Maxwell stepped aside and Jacob gratefully walked in. It looked like the Alhambra was getting ready for some sort of performance, but Jacob only gave the costumes and set pieces a passing glance.

He managed to hold himself together all the way here, but now that he was alone with Maxwell he fell apart. Jacob sank to the floor, hugging his knees as he sobbed.

“Jacob!” Maxwell cried in alarm. “Jacob, what happened?”

“My sister,” he choked. “I nearly lost her.” A few more sobs shook him. He felt Maxwell's hand touch his shoulder.

“What do you mean? How?”

“It was over that goddamned Shroud.” Jacob lifted his head to meet Maxwell's eyes. The man had crouched down in front of him. “My sister nearly got herself killed for Starrick, all because of a fucking piece of cloth. I want him _dead_ , Max. I want him to suffer.”

Maxwell leaned in a little closer, touching Jacob's wet cheek. “I will kill him. I promise you.”

Jacob felt a strange warmth being this close to Maxwell and having the man touch him. He was glad now that he came here. He wouldn't have wanted to see anyone else. The way Maxwell looked at him now made that warmth spread. He noticed Maxwell's eyes flicking to his mouth and Jacob wet his lips. He didn't realize that was a signal until Maxwell was already leaning into him. Jacob realized what was about to happen and closed his eyes, anticipating.

Jacob had been under a few women's skirts but those encounters were nothing like this. This kiss from Maxwell ignited his whole body. For a moment the pain and anger over Evie's attack was forgotten. He cupped Maxwell's face in his hands and tentatively returned the kiss. The man's lips tasted so good, almost like wine. He broke the embrace with a sigh of contentment.

“I've wanted to do that since the moment I first saw you,” Maxwell admitted. “I want to keep kissing you, but I think you should get back to your sister.”

“All right,” Jacob agreed, getting to his feet. He had reached for Maxwell's hand without thinking and their fingers had intertwined. Strange how simple and easy this felt when they should have been enemies. “Max?” he spoke up. “If I find the Assassin who hurt my sister, I'm going to kill them.”

“Noted.” He didn't flinch away from Jacob's threat. He was very unusual for an Assassin. Perhaps that was what drew them together. Maxwell lifted Jacob's hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “Until later, my dear.”

Jacob nodded, slipping out of the theater. His heart was still racing, his body still energized from Maxwell's kiss. The man was exciting, chaotic, and dangerous. It was a very bad idea to let this go any farther. And yet Jacob never felt anything like this before in his life. He wanted to keep chasing this feeling, consequences be damned.


	7. Elimination

The china shattered as it smashed against the wall. Shaking, Crawford stared at the broken pieces. This was getting to be ridiculous. He held such a tight grip over London, and suddenly two Assassins came into the city and all of it was crumbling. The pain of losing Pearl was still fresh when the news was brought to him that Evie had also fallen.

It shouldn't be _possible_. She was a formidable fighter, clever, quick. Yet an Assassin claimed her life. Without her, securing the Shroud would be that much more difficult. But he would... Crawford would not let all her efforts go to waste.

What was left? Not the Rooks-- nearly all the boroughs were taken by the Assassins now, and Jacob would be inconsolable over the loss of his sister. But perhaps he would be so fueled by anger and grief he would go after the Assassins and dispose of them himself. If so, Crawford would leave him to it.

There was also Cardigan ready to step in when Disraeli was disposed of. All the rest was lost to him, but if they could secure the Prime Ministry, they could get it all back.

This wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

– * – * –

He kissed Jacob Frye. The fact continued to roll in his mind, as if thinking of it often enough would make it change. Maxwell's last lover was years ago; he hadn't been interested, and no one had excited him enough. Yet from the moment they met this Templar associate drew his attention.

Then last night when Jacob showed up at the Alhambra, something shifted. He felt something more than attraction, more than desire. Before Maxwell wanted to kill Starrick because he was a Templar and controlled this city through fear. Now he wanted to kill the man for all he did to hurt Jacob.

First he would need to kill Cardigan. With the last of his underlings gone, surely Starrick would be forced to come out of the shadows. As he made his way toward the man, Maxwell thought of Jacob's promise to kill Lucy Thorne. That should have bothered him. She was a fellow Assassin, after all. But if Maxwell was honest, he couldn't begrudge Jacob his vengeance.

Maxwell walked right into Cardigan's office. The man barely got out a word of surprise before Maxwell sliced his throat.

– * – * –

Jacob walked every inch of the Tower of London. This was where Evie last fought the Assassin. He was hoping for some clues to if the Assassin was alive, and where he could find them. He found blood staining the stones and followed the trails. One led out of the tower and abruptly stopped on the street. Was that Evie, escaping in a carriage?

He retraced his steps and followed the second trail again. It went off in a different direction. He guessed the Assassin was searching for a merchant selling medicine. Eventually the trail led him down an alley where he found her.

She looked a bit older than Evie, her red hair once in a strict bun that had gotten loose. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, blood soaked through her clothing. Jacob crouched down to feel for a pulse. He waited for a few seconds but there was nothing.

“Ha,” he smirked. “Looks like my sister won.” He was a bit disappointed he couldn't take his revenge, but more satisfied that Evie avenged herself.

Jacob was about to leave when he paused, looking over the Assassin's body once again. It would really be a shame to let some thief on the street take off with those lovely weapons. Jacob unlatched the woman's belt and helped himself. A pistol with a pouch for bullets; another pouch filled with smoke bombs and another sort he didn't recognize; throwing knives; some strange curved blade that looked a bit like a dagger.

Last was her Assassin gauntlet. Jacob unlatched it, fastening it to his own left arm. His fingers found the mechanism to activate the hidden blade. Yes, this weapon suited him very well.

– * – * –

“You did _what_?”

“I had to say something,” Henry defended, “and I didn't think Starrick would tolerate more failure.” Evie gritted her teeth. She knew he was right, but she was still annoyed. Letting Starrick believe she died might be protecting her but it meant she couldn't go back out hunting for the Shroud.

“What about the Assassins?” she demanded. “They're still after the Shroud, and I know Jacob isn't going to pick up where I left off.”

“No,” Henry agreed. “He... he wasn't interested.”

“So that's it? They just win?” Henry didn't respond. Evie attempted to push herself up but Henry gently coaxed her back down. Again, it annoyed her but she knew she wasn't healed enough. “They're still going to come after us,” Evie warned. “You know how they are: they won't stop until they eliminate every Templar in the city.”

Henry's brow furrowed. “That's true. But they still have Starrick to deal with. He'll pick up the Shroud's trail; he'll find it, and eliminate them.”

Evie nodded, though she wasn't sure that solution was better. Of course she wanted Starrick to succeed-- when she still worked for him. But now? She wasn't so sure. She wasn't going to pretend to be dead forever, which meant that if Starrick won, he would know she lived but failed him.

It seemed that no matter who won the race to the Shroud would eventually come after her and her brother. Evie attempted to sit up and this time pushed Henry's hand away when he tried to stop her.

“I don't know what's going to happen, Henry, but I'm not taking it lying down.”


	8. Shall We Dance?

So Lucy Thorne was dead. Frederick Abberline came by to deliver the news. Her body had been found in an alley; cause of death was a stab wound to her gut that left her bleeding out. She carried no identification papers but Abberline recognized her face and had taken over the investigation. Not knowing what else to do with her, he brought her to the Alhambra where Maxwell could do his own examination.

“She was found like this?” Maxwell clarified.

“Yes. It's rather awful. The medical examiner gave an estimated time of death.” He spoke the time, and Maxwell nodded. So Jacob couldn't have been the killer. His sister, perhaps? But then...

“Her weapons have been stolen. She was carrying a pistol, bombs, knives, and a gauntlet like mine.” Maxwell lifted his left arm to give Abberline a good look. Abberline realized the implications of this, and turned pale.

“Oh, dear. I'll look into it immediately.” He tipped his hat and was off. Maxwell almost called him back to ask for help in another matter, but let him go. The less Abberline knew of Assassin business, the happier he was likely to be.

But Maxwell certainly did need some help. He learned that Starrick was making his final, desperate strike. Somehow losing all his other assets convinced the man now was the time to go after the queen. Maxwell would have to put an end to this once and for all.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on his back door. He moved to open it, and was delighted to see Jacob standing on the other side. He hadn't been able to keep the man or their kiss out of his head. It was such a surprise when Jacob returned the gesture, but Maxwell thought perhaps it was just a reaction from nearly losing his sister. There didn't need to be more to it than that.

“Jacob, what can I do for you?”

“I heard from my Rooks what Starrick is planning,” Jacob informed him. “I know you're planning to kill him, and I want to be there.”

The declaration delighted him. It would be so much better with Jacob by his side. The young man seemed different today. Maxwell couldn't quite place it at first, but then his eyes did a scan of the man's body.

“That looks familiar,” he mused, reaching for the gauntlet on Jacob's left arm. In fact, he was wearing all of Lucy's weapons. Maxwell would have to inform Abberline he could call off the search, but at the moment he was admiring Jacob.

“I figured nothing would piss Starrick off more than being killed by an Assassin's blade, wielded by one of his own men.”

“You sly devil,” Maxwell praised. He reached out to touch the younger man's cheek. Jacob flashed his devilish smile.

“So how are we to get an invitation to the Queen's ball?” A very good question. Even if Maxwell went to Abberline for help, he doubted the man would be keen on letting in a known associate of Starrick. But then he got an idea.

“I know just the person to ask.”

– * – * –

“Evie, please reconsider this,” Henry begged. She didn't answer; she was too busy being laced by Mrs. Disraeli. She hated being wrapped up in this infernal dress, but she couldn't very well go to a ball in her usual attire. “What if Starrick spots you?” Henry persisted.

“Henry, please, I told you: I'm not going to sit around. I know this is risky, but if it works, Jacob and I will be free of Starrick.”

“And what of the Assassins?” Henry demanded. “You think they'll let you both live?”

That question gave Evie pause. When Jacob came by with his plan, it sounded mad to her. Mad, but the only chance they had left. Evie failed Starrick too many times and Jacob was too defiant; they wouldn't survive continuing on like this.

“You shouldn't worry about that,” Mrs. Disraeli spoke up. “Mr. Roth is an odd fellow. I don't think he intends you or your brother any harm.” She finished with Evie's corset, turning her to get a look at the results. “There now. You can come in, Mr. Green.”

He did, his eyes going wide when they settled on Evie. She was wearing a red dress that exposed her shoulders He swallowed, reaching for her hand. “You look absolutely lovely,” he declared, lifting her hand to his lips for a kiss. Evie hated wearing the dress, but she certainly didn't mind Henry's reaction. Their eyes met and Evie felt a warmth flowing through her body. “Promise me you'll be careful,” he urged.

“I will.” She squeezed his hand. She could hear Jacob outside waiting for her with the carriage he stole earlier. Evie stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Henry's lips. “I will see you again, Henry.”

“Jayadeep,” he corrected softly.

“Jayadeep,” she repeated, kissing him one more time. Not for the last time, though. She would make sure of it.

– * – * –

Jacob could only obtain invitations for two, and Maxwell had declined when Jacob tried to offer one to him. Apparently Maxwell came up with a different idea: sneak in disguised as a musician. The queen had plenty of entertainment planned so it was likely Maxwell could blend in without notice. He had also somehow convinced his contact on the police force to smuggle in weapons for them.

“I'm going to look for the Piece of Eden,” Evie informed him once they were past the gate.

“Are you really still on that?” he huffed.

“Jacob, it's a powerful artifact. If Starrick gets his hands on it, he'll be unstoppable.”

“All right, fine. I'll go meet Maxwell on the roof to get our weapons.” They parted ways, Jacob moving through the crowd until he found a secluded spot where he could climb. He had no idea where Maxwell had gone, but had full confidence the man would meet him as planned.

When he arrived at the agreed upon meeting spot, there was a single palace guard on duty. Actually, there was something familiar about that guard.

“Hang on,” Jacob realized. “Aren't you Freddy Abberline?”

“ _Inspector_ Abberline.” The inspector did a double take. “Good Lord, you're Jacob Frye.”

“It's all right, Inspector.” Maxwell arrived, dressed in coat and tails. Jacob was momentarily distracted by how handsome the man looked in those clothes. “He's with me.”

Abberline glanced between the two of them helplessly. After a moment he sighed, seemingly resigned to the situation. “If anything should go awry, Mr. Roth, I'm holding you personally responsible.”

“Understood.” Maxwell was already going through the weapons, taking out his and offering some to Jacob. “Take something for your sister,” Maxwell invited. Jacob's eyes lit on a cane sword and grabbed it.

“I should see how she's doing. Lovely to see you again, Freddy.” He could hear the man sputtering, but Jacob was already on his way back. He scanned over the rooftops searching for his sister. The red dress made her a bit easier to spot in the crowd. Unfortunately it seemed like someone else had spotted her, too.

_Starrick. Hell, this is going to be awkward._

– * – * –

At first he thought he had to be mistaken. But then Crawford took a second glance and she was still there. Evie Frye-- alive, well, and chatting with the queen. Frowning, Crawford approached and caught her by the elbow. She turned to face him, and he was struck by how lovely she looked tonight. He didn't think he ever saw her in a dress before. It was quite becoming.

“Miss Frye. What an extreme pleasure it is to see you. I feared the worst.” And she was wearing the vault key as a necklace. Still working to his benefit.

“Mr. Starrick,” she returned.

“May I have this dance?” She followed him out onto the dance floor and they began. “I was told you did not survive your encounter with the Assassins,” Crawford told her. “Clearly I was misinformed.”

“I allowed those rumors to circulate,” she explained. “I needed the Assassins to think they won, to lull them into a sense of security. I apologize if the rumors caused you any distress.”

“Clever,” he praised. He touched her cheek, his fingers gliding a path down her throat to where the vault key rested. “Now we can go to the vault together and claim the Shroud of Eden.”

“What of my brother?” she challenged.

“Your brother...” Crawford's lips pulled into a stern line. He ran his finger along her throat again. She didn't tremble as he hoped. He settled for clasping the key in his hand and removing it from her neck. “Something to be dealt with another time. The vault awaits us.”

“Of course. If you would excuse me, Mr. Starrick. I would like to change into something less cumbersome.”

“Certainly, Miss Frye.” Perhaps once they secured the Shroud, he could convince her to start calling him Crawford.

– * – * –

Evie was to enter the vault first with Starrick, while Maxwell and Jacob tailed her. Maxwell had to admire Evie's bravery-- clearly the trait ran in the family. He watched Jacob, wondering what the man thought of his sister going into danger so soon after her brush with death. Mostly he saw focus as Jacob concentrated on the task at hand.

Starrick had reached the Shroud. He pulled it out, its strange material glimmering in the light. “At last,” he sighed, draping it around his shoulders. Evie didn't hesitate-- she unsheathed her cane sword and plunged the blade into Starrick's chest. “How dare you!!” he roared, throwing her away with a sweep of his arm.

“Evie!” Jacob cried, rushing in to help her. Maxwell watched as Starrick pulled the sword out, the wound it left slowly repairing itself.

“Ah, of course,” Starrick growled. “The unstoppable Frye twins. See them nightly at Covent Garden! I expected as much from you, Jacob, but Evie? I thought you had more sense.”

“Enough to finally realize you should not have the Shroud,” she retorted, pushing herself back up to her feet.

While she was talking, Maxwell was moving into position. He found his opening and jumped, his hidden blade sinking into the flesh of Starrick's shoulder. The man snarled and threw him off, causing Maxwell to knock into the wall.

“Conspiring with the Assassins! I never expected such betrayal.”

“Maybe that's why you lost,” Jacob commented. He activated the hidden blade on his stolen gauntlet and struck. Starrick parried the attack but Evie was right on her brother's heels with a following blow. Meanwhile Maxwell was getting to his feet and moving to add his own strike.

A pulse went out from the Shroud, knocking them all far away. Jacob recovered first and ran forward with determination in his eyes. He landed several blows but none of them seemed to faze Starrick. Any wound given was quickly healed again. Evie was moving to aid her brother when another pulse went out to send her flying again. Now Maxwell was up with his own strikes. Jacob attempted to help but was knocked out of the way.

This was madness. They could exchange blows all night without causing any permanent damage. Meanwhile they would wear themselves down and Starrick would kill them all. They needed to get rid of that Shroud. Maxwell tried to signal the twins and alert them.

“Jacob!” Evie called out.

“Together!” he shouted back. And they rushed at Starrick from opposite ends. Jacob sank the hidden blade into Starrick's back and Evie plunged her cane sword once again into his gut. While the twins had him trapped by their blades, Maxwell snatched the Shroud from off his shoulders.

“London... will perish without me,” Starrick coughed.

“You flatter yourself,” Jacob scoffed.

“I would have created a paradise,” Starrick continued, life draining out of him.

“The city belongs to the people,” Evie said calmly. “You are but one man.”

“I am the very top of the Order!” he protested.

“You were, Mr. Starrick,” Maxwell corrected. “You were.”

The light finally left Starrick's eyes, and he was still. The twins laid him out on the vault floor and stepped away from his corpse. A fitting end, Maxwell thought, for Starrick to die at the hands of these two. He watched as Evie picked up the Shroud. The twins engaged in a quiet debate over what to do with it. Maxwell left them to it, slumping against one of the vault's pillars. He was not a young man, and that fight took a lot out of him.

“Max?” Jacob's voice was calling to him. He stirred, focusing on the young man's face. “Good, you're all right.”

“Yes. What happened to the Shroud?”

“We've decided to put it away,” Evie answered. “Whatever it gives, it takes from someone else.” A surprising and admirable sentiment coming from agents of the Templar Order. But then, these two were very unusual. Jacob was still watching Max, his hand on the older man's cheek.

“You were brilliant.”

“As were you, my dear.” To his great shock, Jacob was leaning into him. He felt the man's kiss and immediately responded to it, letting his lips move against Jacob's. When they parted for air Maxwell glanced over to Evie. She looked more bemused than anything.

“Well,” she said. “What shall we do now?”

Jacob threw her a smirk, activating the hidden blade. “I don't know about you, but I fancy giving the Assassins a try.”

**~End**


End file.
